


If we stumble in the dark

by maggiedragon



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: 20s era jazz club, Canon Era, Dancing, Graves being maudlin, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 19:50:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12043047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggiedragon/pseuds/maggiedragon
Summary: Being able to dance was another thing Graves was sure he had lost to Gellert Grindelwald. His broken shin had healed at a gruesome angle during his captivity, just enough to make magical healing difficult and imperfect. His right shin could barely bear his own weight walking or standing, let alone running. Or dancing.or, the one where neither Theseus nor Credence are going to let Graves be maudlin.





	If we stumble in the dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LotusRox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusRox/gifts).



> Happy birthday to LotusRox, who asked for canon-era Thesivaldence at a jazz club.

Being able to dance was another thing Graves had lost to Gellert Grindelwald. His broken shin had healed at a gruesome angle during his captivity, just enough to make magical healing difficult and imperfect. His right shin could barely bear his own weight walking or standing, let alone running. Or dancing. 

Oh, he’d _tried_. At first haltingly with Credence on Christmas Eve, but even the basic steps of the jitterbug had made his shattered tibia ache the next morning. Today, he was learning that dancing the blues was just as bad. There was no rock step, no quick shift of weight, but the loose, low _lean_ of it, Theseus’ weight and trust added to his own proved to be a slow and insidious pressure that he didn’t notice until the end of the song. 

Duke Lila’s on a Greenwich Village Saturday was filled with noise even when the band had fallen silent. Laughter and talking and the clink of glasses rang off the dark wood floor and brass finishings, only faintly muted by the red velvet booths. Theseus didn’t bother trying to talk over it, pointing his chin to the bar and making a quick drinking motion. 

Graves took one step and stumbled. 

“Easy!” Theseus caught him by the elbow, stepping in to hold him steady. He offered a wry smile. “Did I wear you out, old man?” 

“Never could keep up with you,” he admitted. Theseus hadn’t asked if he was alright and Graves was quietly grateful. The pain wasn’t the problem. He could manage that: push through it when he could, use potions when he couldn’t. It was just the lingering reminder that there were things he would never get back. 

“I’ll get this round,” Theseus offered. “You go sit before we have to beat Credence’s admirers off with a stick.”

Graves forced himself not to limp as he made his way over. It felt like something clawed and hateful inside his shin was tearing its way free. Maybe there was--a smirking blond ghost, the memory of the man who had stolen his identity, his face-- nearly his life.

Nearly his boy, too. 

Credence. The warm light of the scones had a chiaroscuro effect, turning the pale skin creamy. A proper magical barber and a good brand of hair tonic had turned the bowl cut into soft black curls framing Credence’s face. They were tousled already; Theseus had a damnable tendency of mussing them at every opportunity. Graves shouldn’t have been surprised, honestly. Theseus did the same thing to him, as if he was incapable of _kissing_ someone, let alone anything else without immediately putting his hands in their hair. 

_Serves you both right for having fussy hairstyles,_ Theseus had told them once, sprawled on the bed and taking up far more space than even a man his height had any right to. His own long copper hair had been disheveled, but would need no more than a few seconds’ attention to be back at what--well, at what Theseus Scamander considered to public acceptability.

Despite Theseus’ teasing, only one man hovered around Credence and he took off as soon as he saw Graves approach. Still, it was frankly impressive. They’d only left Credence alone for the three minutes of whatever song had rendered the Theseus incapable of staying still. 

“Was he bothering you?” Graves asked as he lowered himself into the booth The table was scattered with the remnants of their first round-- a snifter, two highballs with slowly melting ice cubes, twists of lime and drips of condensation slowly forming on their glass surfaces. 

“No. Not too much, at least, Mr.-- ah. Percival.” Pink flushed Credence’s cheeks. “Are you-- are you alright?”

“You saw that.” Graves shrugged, not wanting to worry Credence. “Should have known. Theseus has always been a hell of a dancer.”

“I noticed,” Credence said and the pink on his skin deepened. 

“Still shy about him?” Graves asked. It...hadn’t been that long, honestly. A handful of months since they’d settled into this arrangement, a handful more since Graves had woken in the hospital, finally free of the Imperius Curse. He’d jerked upright, wandless magic, _violent_ magic already gathering in his mind and on his lips, but there had only been Theseus sitting on the couch with Credence asleep in his lap. The Brit had given him a small broken smile. _You could have told me, Perce,_ was all he’d said and Graves had wondered if he’d be adding Theseus to the list of things he’d lost. 

Theseus arrived at their booth before Credence could say anything. “Tom Collins, gin rickey, whiskey on the rocks,” he said, the soft corners of his accent fading into the hubbub. He set each drink down in turn before sliding into the booth next to Credence. “Sorry to leave you alone,” he said and pressed a kiss against the corner of the young man’s mouth. 

“Credence was saying how good of a dancer you are,” Graves took a long sip of the whiskey, letting the perceptible burn of the bootlegged No-Maj liquor take his attention away from his calf. 

Theseus flashed a cocky grin. “Oh. Was someone watching?” he teased.

Credence went scarlet, ducking his head. “I--you’re distracting,” he finally got out.

“You realize he thinks that’s a compliment,” Graves commented and watched Credence reach for his drink as if the Tom Collins would cool the flush setting up permanent residence on his cheekbones. 

“It was, I think?” Credence answered. “Not just--” He took a long sip, as if the alcohol would let him talk the way he wanted. “Not just like that. You’re handsome, Theseus. But I like watching you move. You’re comfortable. I wish--”

Something had gone soft in Theseus’ face, not teasing any more, but gentle and a little sad. “Finish your drink, baby,” he said and took his hand to pull him onto the floor. “We’ll be back in a bit, Perce.”

Graves stayed at the table as he drank his whiskey, the slowly melting ice bringing out different flavors, less spice, more vanilla. He watched Credence’s intense focus as Theseus positioned their bodies; he could nearly hear the redhead’s soft tenor promise _It’s alright, baby. I got you._

Deliverance Dane, but he loved them both. Had nearly lost them both. Last December, Grindelwald had made a single fatal mistake. He’d assumed a mere week had given him enough of Graves for a flawless disguise. That he’d seen enough of Graves, of his heart and his soul, to fool the one person who’d seen both of them laid bare. 

And who was the goddamn Senior Auror of the Ministry of Magic to boot. 

The band was playing something slow. Bass thrummed through the room and Lila Duke, the club’s owner, had joined the players on stage. They sang in a carelessly inviting contralto and wore a white silk suit with black lapels and a cluster of violets in their buttonhole. 

The dance floor was crowded but Graves could still see Credence and Theseus.They’d stayed close to the edge and Theseus’ height and copper hair made him distinctive. They were caught up in each other, beautifully oblivious. Theseus’ head bent slightly to listen to something Credence was saying and a soft smile had curved his mouth.

If his Aurors hadn’t found him, Graves wondered, would they have been alright together? He could feel his mood darkening despite the warm light, the cold whiskey, the sound of Lila’s voice. His team _had_ found him, yes, but Theseus and Newt had found Credence, numb and nearly wordless in the ruins of the church. 

Hell had no fury like the Scamander brothers protecting an innocent and by the time Graves had woken, the two had nearly provoked-- and narrowly avoided-- massive international scandal, leaked confidential information to the _New York Ghost_ and publicly shamed Seraphina Picquery into pardoning Credence. 

They would have been fine together, good for each other. Theseus’ heart burned copper-bright and hot, so intensely it had terrified Graves the first time he’d fallen for the man. Credence had been desperate for that sort of heat, that zealotry. Theseus would have torn down the world for him and smiled while he did it. They _were_ good for each other, hypotheticals aside. Theseus shone bright and stubborn, fierce and unafraid, a light to chase away the dark. Credence’s sweetness filled the scars that Graves had left on Theseus’ soul, the uncertainty and the desperate need to know he was wanted. 

Graves wondered, sometimes, if they would be better off without him. The list of things that Gellert Grindelwald had taken was so long…

“Percival.” Credence had come back to the booth while he’d been lost in his maudlin thoughts. 

“Mmm?” 

“You should come dance with us.” Credence’s hand was extended. “You look sad.”

Merlin, Credence was sweet, but... Graves shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The pain was only now subsiding in his calf. 

“Please?” Credence was biting his lip, clearly uncertain about insisting.

Graves couldn’t refuse him anything. He let Credence draw him out onto the floor. “Where did Thes go?”

“He went to ask Lila for a song,” Credence answered. 

“Oh?” and the cornet started to lilt. It was too sedate for swing,too unsyncopated for the blues and Lila’s voice had sweetened as they sang. _”Everything went wrong and the whole day long.._ ”

“Surely the scion of House Graves at some point was forced to learn a waltz,” Theseus said as he reached them.

Graves had been. The Viennese waltz, slow and smooth, no rock step and an upright posture that meant he wasn’t carrying anyone’s weight but his own. A surge of affection closed Graves’ throat, but he still cocked an eyebrow at Theseus. 

“You hate the waltz. It’s slow and it’s boring and there aren’t enough spins,” he said. 

Theseus kissed the corner of his mouth. “That has never been the point of dancing with either of you,” he said. Graves felt his eyes burn as the Brit turned his attention to Credence, moving the younger man’s hands so one rested on Graves’ bicep and the other was interlaced with his. 

_”Days may not be fair always; That's when I'll be there always,”_ Lila sang.

In Graves’ mind now, a new list, a small one. The things he had somehow, miraculously, kept. Copper hair. A blushing smile. 

A waltz.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments or come chat with me on Tumblr! https://maggieandthedragon.tumblr.com/


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